


When I Came to This World (I Arrived in a Storm)

by sequence_fairy



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9825173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: Rukia has a thing about thunderstorms. Ichigo doesn’t complain too much.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Nami.

On sultry summer afternoons that swell with humidity and the low, nearly ultrasonic, sound of distant thunder, and breathe with wind that turns from soft breeze to a thing alive with crackling static electricity; Rukia arrives at Ichigo’s barracks room, _haori_ sliding off her shoulders before she even crosses the threshold. **  
**

Ichigo feels the snap-spark of current in her hair, and breathes in the smell of ozone on her skin as he pulls her to him, fitting the curves of her body into the planes of his. She softens into his embrace, and it’s a long moment before Ichigo lets her go.

Rukia takes a half-step back and looks up at him. There’s excitement riding in the dash of colour high on her cheeks and Ichigo can already feel the building anticipation in his gut. It’s always like this when the weather stirs – Rukia stirs too. Ichigo wonders if she is aware of this inclination of hers.  

“It’s going to storm,” she says. Already, her voice is husked and nearly breathless.

“I know,” Ichigo answers.

“Can we open the door?”

Ichigo nods and Rukia slides open the door, letting the streaming wind spill into Ichigo’s room, sending papers fluttering. The lamp beside his bed gutters, the flame nearly dying before springing back up, only to weave and flicker as another gust washes through the space.

“It’s going to be a good one,” Rukia observes, leaning against the doorframe, her face upturned and her eyes on the sky. The clouds are boiling towards them. Ichigo can feel the small hairs on the back of his neck rising with the howl of the wind. Rukia turns back to him, and grins, full of teeth and temptation.

Outside, the rain arrives in a rushing hush of white noise, and Rukia sticks her hand out into it. The sleeve of her _shihakusho_ falls back to reveal the delicate turn of her wrist and Ichigo can see the dark blue of her veins against her pale skin. Ichigo knows that the taste of the rainwater will mingle with the freesia and ice scent of her skin and he reaches out, grasping her wrist in his hand. Rukia inhales, watching him through hooded eyes as Ichigo lifts her hand and leans down to press his mouth to her skin.

He can feel her pulse through his lips. It trips over itself at the flash of lightning and he feels the full-body tremble that rolls through her when the thunder follows, low and rumbling. Heat curls in his belly, the banked embers tumbling onto the new fuel of Rukia’s eyes, flared wide and her mouth fallen open as the next peal of thunder crashes overhead.

Ichigo steps forward, crowding Rukia against the doorframe. Thunder grumbles, drowning the noise from the rain and Rukia’s exhale as her back hits the wall. A grin tugs up the corners of his mouth, and he wonders what she sees in his smile that makes her breath catch before she leans up and kisses him. She tastes like the rain.

Rukia arches against him, seeking friction as the wind lifts sweeping curtains of rain and mists them onto the porch. They make Rukia’s skin dew-soft and send shivering droplets of cold down the back of Ichigo’s neck. He straightens, pulling away from her mouth, and Rukia drops back onto her heels. Her eyes open slowly and Ichigo can’t look away. A gust of wind rattles the shutters and splatters them with rain.

Rukia takes Ichigo’s hand in hers. “Let’s go,” she says, and tugs him inside after her. Ichigo follows.

Lightning flashes again and thunder rolls, and Rukia strips - she is artless about it, but Ichigo has never seen anything more beautiful than the revelation of her skin as she takes off her layers and unwraps the bindings holding her breasts and stands in the middle of his room, bare to his gaze. She is all soft strength and the fierce grace of a stooping falcon. She arches an eyebrow at Ichigo’s appraisal, but doesn’t fidget or waver.

There’s another low rumble of thunder. The sound thuds in Ichigo’s breastbone and he doesn’t miss the way Rukia’s pupils dilate in response. She reaches for him and Ichigo is already moving. He’s tugging off his own layers, leaving his clothes in rumpled heaps on his floor. He bears her down to the bed, breaking their fall with one hand, while the other wraps securely around her waist. The scent of rain clings to her skin, and Ichigo buries his nose in the hollow between her breasts.

Rukia clutches at his hair, her nails against his scalp. She moans as Ichigo lavishes first one breast then the other, drawing her nipples to stiff peaks before catching them between his teeth. Rukia arches against the pressure of his mouth, murmuring under her breath. He lifts his head, and catches her eye. The dash of colour on her cheeks has deepened and her pupils are blown wide and dark.

Lightning flashes, white-bright and blinding. Ichigo holds his breath and they both hang, motionless, in the silence.

The thunder crashes right overhead, and Ichigo fights the instinctual urge to flinch. He watches Rukia instead - watches as she flinches, as she shudders at the press and drag of the pads of his fingers against her, watches as she bites her lip and drops her head back when he slips two fingers into the wet heat of her core.

Lightning flashes again, and Rukia arches off the bed as Ichigo’s fingers curl just right, and she makes a noise that is buried under the attendant thunder. The storm is moving off now, the space between the lightning and the thunder widens, and Rukia’s voice fills the silence.

She’s always mouthy when they’re in bed, always bossy and demanding and telling him where and how to touch her, but nights like this, her voice breaks around the syllables of his name and Ichigo can feel every hitch and breathy moan in the building coil at the base of his spine. She’s holding onto him like he’s her life raft - nails dug deep into his shoulders, pulling his face more firmly into her chest while her hips roll against the thrust and slide of his fingers.

By some miracle of timing, Rukia shatters at the same time as the sky.

The rain has lessened considerably by the time Rukia catches her breath, and it’s with upturned lips and the press of both palms to his chest that she flips them over, before sliding down his body and sealing her mouth over him. One of Ichigo’s hands come to rest in her hair, and he flexes his fingers, feeling her shudder as he does. Both hands fall to the bed as she begins to move.

Ichigo grits his teeth, before she grips him, sliding her hand up and down his shaft in time with the rise and fall of her head. Ichigo drops his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to fight himself back from the edge that she is bringing him to with deadly precision. He cracks open his eyes, and looks down at her to find her looking back at him, eyes hooded and dark. She arches an eyebrow and Ichigo convulses at the pressure of tongue against the underside of his cock.

“Ruki– _ah_ ,” Ichigo loses the tail end of her name to a groan drawn from the back of his throat. Rukia’s grip changes and the suction of her mouth deepens briefly as she swallows around him, before re-adjusting and looking up at him again through the delicate frame of her eyelashes. Ichigo swallows hard - there’s a promise behind her gaze, and god help him, he wants her to follow through.

Rukia lifts her head and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Ichigo has a breathless moment of no contact before she leans up and sinks down, and he is engulfed in a rush of searing heat. He moans, guttural and low as she rolls her hips, lifting her arms over her head to bury them in her own hair.

She’s glorious like this, all peach-flushed and backlit by the far away flash of lightning.

There’s something about the way the lightning catches in her hair; the way it washes the colour out of her eyes and sharpens the angles of her face. Ichigo thinks he’s seen her look like this before – fierce and deadly and _beautiful_ – like she’s some sort of intricately tooled blade, and he must be careful when he handles her, because on nights like this, her edges are _honed_.

Rukia rides him slowly, and Ichigo resists grabbing at her hips to press her down more firmly, to make her drive her hips into his, to make this into a race they’ll both win. Instead, he idles his fingers across the skin of her thighs, drawing concentric circles and making her bite her lip when his hand slides down the join of her thigh. He doesn’t slip his fingers to where she wants them and he grins when she hisses in annoyance.

“Thought you weren’t in a hurry,” he says, when she leans over him and plants her hands on his shoulders. Rukia huffs a laugh. Her hips don’t stop moving and Ichigo gives into the desire to press himself along the entire length of her body and lets his spine arch while he reaches around her to tug her close. Rukia collapses onto him. Still, her hips don’t stop moving, but how that the angle’s changed, she’s moving faster and he can feel the pant of her breath against the join of his neck.

She mewls into his shoulder, and the pinprick bite of her teeth is what rockets him over the edge he’s been hanging on for what seems like forever. Ichigo knows he’s going to leave marks where he’s holding onto her, but Rukia is getting her revenge in pre-emptively with the dig of her nails into his side. She gasps his name, and it drops off in a keening cry as she comes, following him off the precipice and into the soft afterglow.

Rukia doesn’t move from where she’s gone boneless on his chest, and Ichigo wraps an arm securely around her before shifting onto his side and leaning up to blow out the lamp beside his bed. He sinks back down onto his futon, and pulls her close, curling around her smaller frame. Outside, it is still raining, but the breeze that flits through his room tastes of air washed clean by the storm, and Ichigo can’t be bothered to get up to pull the door shut. Instead, he reaches down and tugs the coverlet up, draping it over them.

Rukia sighs, contented, and Ichigo looks down at her. She cracks open one eye. “What’re you looking at?”

“Nothing,” he says, Rukia snorts delicately. “Go to sleep, storm’s over.”

“I know,” she says, before turning over his grasp. Ichigo snugs his arm around her waist and buries his nose into the nape of her neck. She still smells like rain.


End file.
